


Make Your Own Kind Of Music

by sunsetmog



Category: Beautiful Thing (1996)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide 2006
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ask me to stay," Jamie said.</p>
<p>Ste said, "I love you," which was sort of the same thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Your Own Kind Of Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrift/gifts).



> Originally posted as part of Yuletide 2006 for shrift; reposted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/53654.html).
> 
> Beta by algernon_mouse and silverweave. Title from the Mama Cass song of the same name

Sandra thought the idea of Jamie going to college after he finished his GCSEs and left Crossflats was just about the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. "What the _hell_ are you going to do at college, Jamie?" She asked, which was a pretty good question considering Jamie's GCSE results had been less than stellar. 

"Get my qualifications, what do you think?" Jamie shook his head and leaned back on the sofa. He'd been watching _Neighbours_ before his mum had interrupted him, and he turned the volume up in an effort to let her know the conversation was effectively over. 

Sandra watched him for a long moment from across the kitchen counter. "I know why you're suddenly up for going to college," she told him, unpacking her shopping loudly, tins of beans and bags of chips going everywhere, "It's now that Ste's said he's going, isn't it? Where that boy goes, you'll follow, is that it?"

Jamie toed off his trainers and rolled his eyes. "I'm going to get my business GNVQ, Mum," he said, deliberately sounding bored. "Gonna make something of my life, just like you always wanted."

Sandra rolled her eyes. "I'll swing for you one of these days," she told him, jabbing a finger into his shoulder and waving a jar of beetroot perilously close to Jamie's ear. 

"Yeah, yeah," Jamie said, waving her away. But he knew he'd won. 

So Ste and Jamie went to college after they finished at Crossflats; Jamie went to do his GNVQ in business and Ste went to do sports science so he could get his qualifications and work full time at the leisure centre. He was half way to becoming a qualified lifeguard when one of his instructors started to take an unhealthy interest in the nasty scar across the base of Ste's back (a mistimed kick from Trevor) and the odd session when Ste refused to take his t-shirt off when he got in the pool. 

Ste saw his tutors talking to each other as he clambered out of the pool one Thursday, and he rushed into the changing rooms to get showered and ready and out of there and meet Jamie. "They know," he said, desperately, dropping onto the bench next to Jamie twenty minutes later. His rucksack rolled off onto the floor. 

"Good," Jamie said. He offered Ste half of his Kit Kat.

"Jamie," Ste said. "They know. About my dad and Trevor."

Jamie nodded. "You said. I said _good_."

Ste's breath caught in his throat. 

Jamie grabbed Ste's hand for a moment and squeezed. "This is a good thing," he said again, before letting go. "Maybe it'll stop now."

Ste's tutors arranged a meeting with him for the following Tuesday after lessons. Jamie waited outside, looking nervous and uncomfortable in a plastic chair by a pot plant that smelt like mouldy fruit. 

The college wanted to get Social Services involved, but Ste thought that was going to be a waste of time since he was already sixteen and technically not a kid anymore. His tutors said _mmm_ and looked at each other. The next thing Ste knew there was a social worker asking him questions and Sandra had to go down to the council and meet with a serious woman named Jean who had a moustache and was probably a lezzer but now that Jamie was a gay Sandra was trying to stop saying things like that. Jamie just nudged her and said Jean probably _was_ a lezzer. Sandra snorted really loudly and Jamie had to hiss _Mum_ at her before she shut up. 

The upshot of Jean and Ste's nosy tutors was that Ste ended up being pretty high up the council waiting list for a flat by the time he turned seventeen. He ended up with a tiny one bedroom flat in a high rise on an estate up the river. Jamie was well up for it, until he realised that the lift was out of order more often than not and he had to walk up eight flights of steps just to get regular sex. 

Eight breathless flights of stairs was enough to put anyone off a blow job.

Except Ste. 

...Ste grinned, an evil glint in his eye. He kicked the door shut behind him, slid onto his knees, pulled at the fly of Jamie's jeans and proceeded to blow him until Jamie cried out his name onto the wet, damp air of the hallway. Ste knelt back onto his haunches and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "What was that about not wanting a blow job?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jamie swatted at him lazily with one hand. "Shut up, Ste."

Ste shut up. And then fucked Jamie into the mattress. 

*

Sandra had looked none too happy when she found out where Ste's new flat was. She'd heard all sorts, she said, all sorts of rumours about what went on at that estate. 

Ste's brow creased. He stabbed at the food on his plate with his fork. 

Jamie narrowed his eyes and reached for Ste's hand, stilling it with his own. "Mum, it's the flat or back with his dad and Trevor. Which would you pick?"

"You think you're so bleedin' clever, you." Sandra grumbled, shaking her head. But she gave Ste an extra helping of custard with his pudding. And then she turned up on Ste's doorstep with six carrier bags, including a couple of pans and a kettle and a toaster and some crockery she'd nicked from the kitchen in the pub. "We'll write it off as some idiot having smashed it," she said, unpacking the carrier bags onto Ste's kitchen counter. She had unwrapped a new pair of marigolds for the occasion, and brought a whole pile of industrial cleaning products from the cleaner's cupboard at work. "We have to have it all back by first thing tomorrow morning," she said, by way of explanation as she threw a fresh pair of marigolds at Ste's head, "so we'd better get on with it."

She left the place gleaming, and Ste high as a kite on the chemical fumes. 

The flats were pretty rough but Ste had grown up with his dad and Trevor so he was pretty adept at keeping out of people's way if necessary. He kept himself to himself, messing around with the kids on a weekend by playing football in the car park hour after hour. They seemed to like him, although as per bloody usual Jamie managed to put their backs up within ten minutes of meeting them by asking them not to kick the ball at his face when he was wearing his glasses. 

Later on, they told Ste that he had funny mates. 

Ste hm-hmmed uneasily. 

*

Sandra was a bit of a life saver really, because otherwise Ste's flat would just be a bed and a stove and a bedside table he kept in the front room with his little telly on it. She asked around the bar and it only took her a fortnight to find someone who had a crappy sofa they wanted to get rid of, and someone else who had a fridge going cheap. Someone else had a battered transit, so in less than a month Ste's flat turned from a grotty, unfurnished hole to something resembling a grotty, poorly furnished home. Still, Ste said, beggars can't be choosers. 

Jamie - who was busy tracing a pattern across Ste's shoulder blades with his thumb, nodded his agreement. 

Ste kissed him.

"It'd be even better if I moved in with you," Jamie said, finally, gently pulling away and biting his lip. His thumb had stopped its meandering trail, somewhere south of Ste's right shoulder blade. 

Ste swallowed. "Do you think?" his voice shook a little, but he coughed uneasily to cover his nervousness.

Jamie nodded. "I think so."

Ste picked at the thread of the duvet with his thumb and first finger. He nudged Jamie with his elbow. "Ok."

*

By the time Jamie had negotiated leaving Sandra's and officially moved in, Ste had got himself a table and a couple of chairs to go with his haphazard furniture collection. They didn't match and were slightly different heights, but Ste was so chuffed with his find that Jamie didn't have the heart to say anything. 

Ste had also been to Smiths and he'd got himself some blu tack and some drawing pins and tacked up the posters he'd brought from his dad's place - a huge Arsenal one on the wall in the living room (conveniently covering up the beginnings of a damp patch, where the wallpaper was beginning to peel) and one of Fight Club in the kitchen. When Jamie first saw the Arsenal one in the living room he made a sound in his throat which was almost but not quite a comment about Ste's skills in the decorating department, but Ste grinned and slung an arm around Jamie's shoulder, dragging him close.

Jamie probably figured he'd better just get used to it, because that was the last Ste heard of the subject. 

Until he got home from work two days later and wandered into the bedroom (their bedroom!) and found a giant blue swirly wishy-washy painting on the wall above their bed. "It's a Monet," Jamie said proudly, like that was supposed to mean something to Ste. "Got it from Oxfam, it was dead cheap."

Ste thought it prudent not to say he wouldn't have taken it even if they were giving them away free. He'd sort of forgotten that with Jamie came Jamie's clutter and Jamie's decoration and Jamie's grand plans. It wasn't just the Monet in the bedroom, it was a globe on the floor by the telly and a dancing hamster on the windowsill in the kitchen and one of those coke bottles that sang whenever you walked past it, and boxes of weird stuff that was yet to be unpacked. 

When Jamie said, proudly, "Well, what do you think of our flat?", Ste was stupid enough not to think before he spoke. He couldn't stop staring at Jamie's Monet.

"It's a bit, you know. Gay."

Jamie folded his arms. "Ste," he said, "We _are_ gay."

Ste figured he'd brought that one on himself.

The picture stayed, as did the dancing hamster and the light up globe. The singing coke can was the compromise, and Ste threw it in the bin with a flourish. In his head, he referred to Jamie's picture as his Big Gay Picture, but he took care never to call it that out loud. Anyway, they had Monet in the bedroom and Arsenal in the living room and Ste thought that that probably said something quite important about their relationship.

Ste had already realised that there was very little point arguing with Jamie on points of interior decoration. Jamie backed up all his arguments with pictures torn out of posh magazines he pretended his Mum had bought. Ste didn't back up his arguments up with anything, let alone pictures torn out of Hello! Magazine or from Ideal Home magazines that Ste couldn't believe Jamie wasted his money on. Jamie kept talking about glass topped tables and soft rugs and roaring fires - which, ok, wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. It was just so far away from anything Ste had ever known, what with his Mum dying and his Dad being a drunk and them being broke and growing up on a council estate; he just couldn't get interested. It all seemed a bit of a waste of money - and time and energy - to Ste, who would rather just have a mirror in the bathroom so he could see when he was trying to have a shave, or a knife for the kitchen that would actually cut stuff, or a wardrobe. Useful stuff.

He'd brought everything he could from his Dad's place, but he couldn't take everything. There wasn't that much stuff to take. 

Still, he'd bought the bed and his bedside table, and he'd bought his posters and a Ludo board game he'd had since he was a kid. And at the last minute, when he'd put his clothes in a bin liner and rolled his posters up and was stood at the door of his bedroom, he felt under his bed and pulled out a shoe box and stuffed it in with his clothes in the bin liner. The shoe box had his special stuff in it, the stuff that Trevor didn't know about, the stuff that nobody knew about. There wasn't much, just a picture he'd drawn for his Mum as a kid and a couple of bits and pieces his Nan had given him. There was a letter his Nan had written to his Grandad just after they'd got married and a photo of Ste's Mum holding Ste as a baby. It was the only picture Ste had of his Mum. His dad had kept a photo from their wedding day in his bedroom, but Ste had grown up trying not to forget what she looked like, sneaking into his Dad's room when he was out and just staring down at his Mum and Dad. He'd been overwhelmed when his Nan had opened her bag and pulled out the photo - nothing more than a cheap snap with a wrinkled crease across one corner - but it was a photo nonetheless. His Mum was smiling at the camera, laughing at something that was happening somewhere behind the camera, and Ste was smiling up at her. He'd never shown Trevor. He was too vindictive to be trusted - something Ste had learnt from bitter experience. 

He'd shown it to Jamie though, after Jamie had pulled the shoe box out from under the bed and asked him what it was. Jamie had smiled and nudged Ste's shoulder. "It's our flat, you know," he said, "you don't have to hide anything under the bed anymore."

Ste stared down at the photo of his Mum. He put the shoebox down on the floor, in plain sight, and leaned back on the bed. "I never thought," he said eventually. "I just put it where it had always been."

Jamie's fingers meandered their way down Ste's stomach, curling under his jumper and resting on warm skin. "Well. It doesn't have to be there anymore."

Ste came home from work a couple of days later to find that Jamie had been out and bought a frame for the photo. It was nothing special, just a simple, shiny silver one, but Jamie had put the photo in and he'd moved the rickety shelves that Sandra had found in the lock-up behind her pub under the window. The photo of Ste's Mum, resplendent in its new frame, had pride of place on the top shelf. 

Jamie was sat on the sofa, hands full of the few bits and pieces they tended to keep on the shelf - a pack of cards, the TV guide that came free with _the Sun_ on a Saturday, a plastic model that came with a Kinder Surprise. Jamie was looking at him with a worried look on his face, like he'd done something wrong. Inexplicably, Ste found he couldn't talk because of the lump in his throat. 

"Is it OK?" Jamie asked eventually, hesitantly. "I didn't know if you'd be mad, me going through your stuff."

"Mad?" Ste managed. "I-" He didn't know what to say. 

"I can take it out if you don't like it."

Ste stared at the picture for a long moment. It felt strange, his Mum looking over at him. "Don't do that," he said quietly, after a minute. "No one's ever done anything like this for me."

Jamie shrugged uneasily. "I just thought it might be nice." He was uncomfortable, restless. 

"It is." Ste sank down onto the sofa, staring at the photo. He did like it.

Jamie nodded. "I'll make us some tea."

So Jamie made two cups of tea and opened a packet of biscuits and they watched Coronation Street sat at opposite ends of the sofa, until Ste stopped staring at the screen and the photo of his Mum, and he crawled the length of the sofa and buried his head in the curve of Jamie's neck. He tugged at the fly of Jamie's trousers, cold hands down the back of Jamie's pants, hips pushing down against Jamie's erection. It was Ste's way of saying thank you, and Jamie appreciated the gesture, pulling at the collar of Ste's sweatshirt and pulling it up and over his head.

Afterwards, when they were naked on the bed and Jamie was reaching down for the duvet to cover them up, Ste said _thanks_. 

Jamie nodded. "Yeah." 

*

Jamie had been working in Dixons on the high street ever since he finished college, a job Sandra was dead proud of him for keeping. Ste didn't think it was that exciting, but then neither did Jamie, so they were both of the same opinion. It was pretty boring but it paid ok, and they liked his GNVQ. He was gunning for a job as a supervisor as his first step up on the ladder. Jamie liked ladders, he liked the idea of them, climbing them and pushing upwards and selling more and more washing machines and finally getting to the top of the ladder, where there was a house with a conservatory, all just waiting for him to get there. Jamie was in his element at Dixons, persuading people to buy televisions and vacuum cleaners and reminding them of the importance of the extended guarantee. 

He was trying to persuade the manager to let him help sort out the rotas every week, which - aside from being another step up the ladder towards him being supervisor and eventually deputy manager - would mean that he could try and work his rota around Ste's. At the moment he worked thirty six hours per week, spreading them out over seven days depending on what shifts needed covering. His shift patterns tended to be as variable as Ste's in the leisure centre. Some weeks it worked out okay and they ended up spending the odd whole day together, watching daytime telly and eating toast and doing big shops and eating lunch in Jamie's Mum's pub. Some weeks they barely saw each other, exchanging sleepy hellos and goodbyes in the hallway or the kitchen or going in and out of the bathroom. Sometimes they managed to snatch half an hour - a quick drink in a pub on the high street or eating chips from the chip shop round by the leisure centre. Sometimes when they were both finishing late, they dragged up some energy and went up town to one of the gay pubs. Ste still sort of hated them half of the time, but Jamie loved going out as a couple and kissing in public. Even Ste had to admit that sometimes it was fun to dance to bad music and kiss on the dance floor, or even just to sit in the bar and have a bit of a snog if they felt like it. 

Still, some weeks they barely saw each other and Ste ended up being bored stupid lying around the house. If Ste was on earlies and was covering the Early Bird swim and Jamie was on lates covering the evening delivery, then Ste had hours to kill and not much to do with it. He ended up hanging around back Bermondsey-way, hanging out with the guys from Crossflats, hanging around their flats or in pubs, killing time. Jamie hated it, hated them, got angry at Ste for wasting his time hanging out with losers. Ste shook his head, because they weren't that bad. They'd end up down the pub or out in the park having a kick about, or in one of their flats, drinking beer and playing playstation. Jamie still hated it, but Ste kept going, because he was bored and his friends made him laugh and he'd been mates with them for years and he wasn't going to give that up just because when he went home he liked getting Jamie naked. 

Ste's friends never mentioned Ste'n'Jamie, and that was the way Ste liked it. He never had to explain himself, or justify anything. He just had to keep getting the high scores on playstation and keep drinking the tins and keep scoring goals and everything would just keep on the same as it always had been. They never hung around at Ste's flat, but Ste wouldn't have had anything to offer them even if they did want to come. He had a crappy telly and no playstation and no park for them to play footie in. And the local pub was even more of a dive than the ones that they usually chose to hang out in. Ste wasn't fooling himself - they no more approved of him and Jamie than they did of going down the pub and only ordering a coke, but while they chose to ignore it, Ste got to hang out with his mates again and fill up all those empty hours. 

Plus, Ste was relieved to have conversations that didn't start with Jamie saying _when we've got enough money_ and end with _we'll get a conservatory as well_. Jamie was obsessed with his dream house. He had this stupid idea that one day they'd be rich enough to have one of those executive homes on one of the posh estates, with posh garage doors and an ensuite bathroom. And of course, the bloody conservatory Jamie was obsessed with. 

Ste had no bloody idea what they'd do with a conservatory. Whenever he tried asking Jamie, he would just raise an eyebrow and show Ste the page in whatever magazine he was currently ogling over and say something stupid and obvious like "we could sit in it". Ste just rolled his eyes, because Jamie was stating the obvious and it wasn't as if Ste could argue with that. Still, it was a stupid idea, and not just because at the moment they didn't have enough furniture for the flat, let alone enough to fill a conservatory. Their furniture was scrappy and scruffy and second hand (apart from the dazzling array of white goods Jamie was buying through work) but at this rate they'd be sitting in a conservatory that was hanging off an eighth floor window and had no sodding furniture. 

Ste found himself seeing more and more of his old friends because they didn't talk about conservatories half the time and hassle him about getting a promotion at work. They never made him listen to show tunes or didn't let him watch the football results because there was a Judy Garland film on the other side either. 

Ste had a sneaking suspicion Jamie was much more gay than he'd ever realised. 

Ste liked going out and not being gay. He liked not being part of a couple people stared at, he liked going to the pub and not having the guy behind the bar give them a double take. He liked sitting with the boys and being a bit loud and he liked being with them when they tried to pick up girls. Jamie had always been a bit of a loser - Ste's loser, but a loser none the less - but when Ste was with the boys the girls came flocking. The boys were arrogant and rude and pushy, and the girls loved them for it. They always seemed to like Ste, with his smile and the fact that he never actively tried to chat them up. They tried asking him and buying him drinks but no girl ever succeeded. 

No girl apart from one. 

Her name was Danielle and she was from up Ealing way, down visiting her cousin. She worked in Woolworths and she was nice enough, pretty and funny and not too drunk. Danielle sat next to him and let Ste buy her a drink - vodka and coke - and when he brought it back from the bar she put her hand on his thigh. Usually he ignored it when the girls did that, or he just moved their hand and went to the loo. But Danielle was nice, and Ste was drunk, and he was pissed off at Jamie for being a right royal pain in the arse and banging around the flat the night before when Ste was trying to sleep. Ste was supposed to be out with Jamie that night, but Jamie had cried off, wanting a night in front of the telly because channel 5 was showing ET and Close Encounters of the Third Kind. He wanted that rather than a night out with Ste, having a laugh. So when Danielle put her hand on his thigh, Ste was pissed off. He thought, _see, Jamie? We could be having fun._ Arsenal were playing AC Milan on the big screen across the pub and Thierry Henry scored as Danielle tried to hold Ste's hand. The pub roared and everyone was on their feet and Ste found himself kissing Danielle as Thierry Henry celebrated on the pitch. 

Ste had forgotten himself for five minutes. 

He swallowed. "I've got to go," he said, pulling away. She tasted like vodka. 

Danielle started to get her coat. 

"No," Ste said, "I've got to get home."

Danielle coughed. "Oh, I get it. Girlfriend waiting, right?" Her eyes were dark. 

"Something like that," Ste said, nervous. Sandra's mates came in here sometimes. 

Danielle's hand slid up Ste's thigh. "I don't mind," she said, "You could come back to mine for a bit."

"I mind," Ste told her, pulling her hand away. He grabbed his jacket, and tried to get out from behind the table. 

She shouted at him across the bar, told him to fuck off, but Ste didn't look back. His skin burnt. 

When he got home, he found Jamie asleep in one of Ste's t-shirts, duvet twisted and wrapped around his thighs because he was a wriggler and he'd forgotten to turn the heater off before he went to sleep. Ste lent back against the wall, watching Jamie sleep. His stomach contracted. He woke Jamie up with hot, urgent kisses. He pulled off his t-shirt and shrugged him out of his boxers. The sex was sticky and rushed and desperate. Afterwards, Jamie kissed him, reaching up for him with sleepy fingers. 

Ste swore to himself he'd never do anything to hurt Jamie ever, ever again. 

He fell asleep as soon as Jamie rolled over and switched off the light. 

*

Jamie had a bit of a life of his own now, even going out with his mates from work every now and again. Ste knew that they probably tolerated his eccentricities, like he did, because being mates with Jamie was worth it if you could get past the occasional weirdness. Ste had met most of them, these few guys who Jamie hung out with at work and occasional Saturday nights out. The current manager, Johno, was as much of a weirdo as Jamie could be, and they probably spent the whole time talking about old films or sex lives of the previously rich and famous. There was a new deputy manager, Tim, who Jamie kept talking about but Ste had never met him. 

Ste had never been jealous of Jamie's friends until he wandered into Dixons one evening to meet Jamie from work one Saturday night, and he'd found this blond, gorgeous guy behind the counter making Jamie laugh. Jamie had snorted and wiped his mouth on his sleeve and introduced Ste as "the guy I live with". 

Ste felt his blood boil for perhaps the first time ever. He bristled. "His _boyfriend_." 

Tim had nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Cool." 

Now Ste had made a big deal about being Jamie's boyfriend. Jamie was staring at him like he was a complete idiot. He blushed and picked at the seam of his jacket. "You almost finished?" Ste said eventually. 

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Almost."

Ste waited outside for him, embarrassed at being territorial and jealous and playing the overprotective boyfriend card. They were supposed to be going out to get something to eat - down to Pizza Hut for a large stuffed crust and second helpings of the ice cream factory. Jamie had tried to persuade him to go upmarket and to go to Pizza Express and share a bottle of wine with their meal, but Ste didn't really like wine and restaurants made him catch his breath. He preferred ice cream and the odd beer and refillable cokes, so they ended up in Pizza Hut, seated in the corner underneath the stairs. 

"Since when were you such a dick?" Jamie asked, conversationally, after they'd ordered drinks. 

Ste fiddled with his napkin. "He was all over you," he said finally. 

"He was not. He's straight. You were an idiot." Jamie ordered a spicy chicken pizza without asking Ste, even though he knew Ste preferred pepperoni. Ste was still feeling territorial, and Jamie was really pissed off with him. They bickered their way through the pizza and by the time it got to the ice cream factory Ste was in too bad a mood to enjoy it. By the time they got to the bus stop to go back home, they were barely speaking. 

Ste woke up early on Sunday morning to a gap as big as the Thames down the middle of the bed. He sighed, biting his lip, and slipped out of the room to make tea and toast. They had a new (second hand) TV stand in the living room, so Ste had been able to move his bedside table back into the bedroom, and he cleared space to put down a mug and plate of toast. He sat on the edge of Jamie's side of the bed and stroked his forehead to wake him up. "Sorry," he said. 

Jamie pulled back onto his elbows, head resting against the wall. He kissed Ste briefly, without really looking at him, and reached for his tea, taking a long, sugary gulp. "If you've gone and lost me one of my only mates, Ste, there's going to be trouble." Jamie said carefully. 

Ste nodded. Jamie rolled him over and fucked him into the mattress, leaving his toast to go cold. As he came, Ste said sorry over and over again. Jamie rested his forehead against Ste's for a long moment.

"It's ok," Jamie said, finally. 

It wasn't, Ste knew, thinking of Danielle. 

But Jamie had forgiven Ste for Tim. 

*

Sandra had been an idiot last Christmas and given Jamie exactly what he'd asked for, which had been a Nigella Lawson cookbook. Ste had taken one look at it, last Christmas Day, and promptly put his head in his hands. 

Jamie liked to be imaginative in the kitchen. Ste blamed it all on the telly and those stupid magazines Jamie kept buying. Ste kept coming in in the evenings to find Jamie watching Nigella or Jamie Oliver or stupid Hugh Fearnley-Crackpot with half an eye on the screen and the other far in future, on their executive detached house and conservatory. They were always cooking things that made Ste's stomach turn, like calves hooves or pigs ears or cutting carrots into strips and calling it funny names. Ste could never be bothered with food programmes. They got in the way of watching _Millionaire_ or having lazy sex on the sofa or watching sport or whatever else they did in the evenings to kill time. 

Whenever Ste cooked for them both, he cooked normal stuff like pork chops or baked beans or sausages or spag bol. If Ste got in late and Jamie had had the run of the kitchen, Ste never knew what sort of thing he was going to get. Jamie's stupid cookbook was dangerous, and their local Budgens had become a perilous nightmare. It was never easy any more, it was never just a couple of onions and a few mushrooms and some milk and bread and cheese, it was Jamie asking the shop assistants if they had fennel or aubergines or lemongrass or celeriac. They never did, because this wasn't Muswell Hill or Crouch End, this was _here_ , where most people couldn't even recognise parsnips. They ended up buying celery instead (because how different could it be) and tangerines (because Ste liked them) and a packet of chocolate biscuits (because Jamie liked them) and some KY jelly (because they both quite liked that). Then, ridiculously, they'd start thinking about jelly and how much they'd liked it at primary school, so they ended up buying those little tubs of orange jelly and a tin of mandarins to have with it. 

But because Ste lived with Jamie and Jamie could never let an opportunity pass him by, there would be stupid jelly innuendo and loud comments about having to go back to the magazine aisle and pick up the latest copy of _Attitude_ because there was probably an article about just what they could do with jelly. Jamie could always be counted on to make a right arse of himself about being all gay and stuff in public. Ste was bored of it. He still got embarrassed because no one else ever made a show of themselves in Budgens. 

Ste told Jamie he'd see him outside, and went and waited by the pallets of compost and the newspaper racks on the pavement outside. 

Jamie was quiet when he came out, handing Ste one of the carrier bags to hold without a word. When they got home he sucked Ste off, with Ste's hands twisted in the collar of Jamie's shirt as Jamie licked his way up the sensitive underside of Ste's erection. 

Jamie grinned as Ste came with a cry, all over Jamie's chin and the front of his shirt. 

For some reason, that pissed Ste off even more. 

*

Ste and Jamie broke up just before Ste's twentieth birthday. 

Jamie was pissing him off and being boring and dull and queer. His mates were having a go about what happened with that girl, Danielle. Ste missed being normal, he missed playing football with the kids from the flats (they weren't so keen on playing footy with a poof; it was hard to keep your relationship a secret when you lived in a one bedroom flat with another man) and he was sick to fucking death of the _Sound of Music_ and Jamie's latest obsession with star biographies. He and Sandra were reading one each and then they were going to swap. Ste was sick of Sandra ringing all the time and Jamie talking to her for ages about the book he was reading. He was making painstakingly slow progress through his Marilyn Monroe biography, and Ste was sick to death of it. 

Ste wanted to talk to someone who liked football, who could name the whole Arsenal squad and dragged _him_ to the pub on a Saturday afternoon to catch the football results. He wanted someone around who didn't talk about conservatories and thought music was something they hadn't stopped making in the sixties. He wanted someone who didn't make scenes in Budgens. He wanted someone who looked straight. He was sick of comments at work and his job was driving him crazy and Jamie was always pushing, pushing about getting a better job and a better wage and more qualifications. 

Jamie was always having a go about Ste's dad, who turned up every three months without fail asking for money. Jamie thought that Ste was an idiot for even giving him the time of day, and yeah, Ste felt great about being made to feel like a dick. But it was his _dad_ , all said and done, and he didn't have any other family apart from Trevor. Jamie hadn't understood when Ste had wanted to go to court the day of Trevor's trial either, and he'd laughed in Ste's face when Ste had wanted to go and visit Trevor after he'd been sent down. Jamie was lucky because he had Sandra, and Sandra would walk through fucking fire for Jamie. Jamie just cocked his head to one side when Ste said that, and said "My Mum loves you, you know." 

Jamie didn't get that it wasn't the same as having a family of your own. 

Jamie kept making a big deal about how Ste's friends were losers and Ste should get himself some better friends, some friends who weren't homophobic bastards who'd beat Jamie up as soon as look at him. Ste didn't say maybe he should get himself a new housemate, someone who didn't hassle him all the time and try and get rid of his friends. 

And Jamie called his flat a dump, a dump they should try and move out of and get something better. A house. 

"If my flat is such a dump, why don't you get the hell out if you don't like it?" Ste said finally, snapping. 

"I thought it was _our_ flat?" Jamie said, in surprise. 

"Shut up, Jamie."

Afterwards, Ste reckoned that Jamie didn't seriously consider leaving until Ste came clean about Danielle. 

"I kissed a girl," Ste said. He was tired and sick of his job and Jamie was driving him up the bleeding _wall_ , and he wanted Jamie to shut up. 

"Yeah, right."

"No, really." Ste cracked open a can of beer from the counter and took a long gulp. It wasn't cold. "Her name was Danielle." 

"Did you sleep with her?" Jamie asked. He took his own can of beer, this one from the fridge. 

Ste shook his head. "No. But I kissed her. In the pub. She asked me back to hers but I didn't go. I came home instead. To you."

Jamie just put on his jacket and left. 

Ste didn't think that Jamie would actually leave him until he had actually _left_. Ste had been pushing Jamie for months now, doing things he knew that Jamie would disapprove of, like hanging around with the guys from Crossflats and smoking the odd bit of weed and selling it on to the kids in the flats. He sold the occasional tablet and the odd baggie, and he knew Jamie hated it. He should have been thinking about his job and the occasional random drug test, Jamie said, but instead he was thinking about feeling trapped and Jamie's stupid conservatory. He thought about Jamie, who told Ste he loved him about three days into their relationship, who hugged him when his dad upset him, who knew that Ste sometimes had nightmares but mostly wanted to forget it ever happened. Ste had never talked about the future, about _his_ future, about him and Jamie and the long term. He'd sort of thought it might be obvious since they'd lived together for ages and they did all that stupid stuff like dancing together outside the flats on the old estate, and snogging on the dance floor in that straight club and kissing in the queue for the pictures that one time. 

Jamie left Ste wandering around the bare flat and missing him like crazy. 

Ste started trying to get Jamie back about eight hours after he walked out. 

Getting Jamie back was much harder than getting him to leave in the first place. First of all, there was Sandra to get past. 

"You're a fucking idiot, Ste," She said, as soon as Ste came into the bar. 

Ste nodded. "I know."

"And if you dare tell me it's just because you were drunk-"

"I won't, Sandra."

"Just, get him to forgive you, will you? His moping around the place is putting the punters off their drinks."

Jamie moping was enough to put anyone off their drinks. It took Ste begging and Ste buying Jamie the gift of the stupidest hat _ever_ (even beating his gift to No-short-for-Nolene, back in the day) and Ste apologising over and over and over before Jamie would even listen to him, let alone consider moving back in. 

He moved back in about three weeks later, which coincidentally was about the same amount of time it took Sandra to get sick of Jamie hanging around cramping her style. 

Jamie turned up on his doorstep with a holdall and a stiff look on his face. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked, once Ste had opened the door. 

"I-" Ste said. 

"Ask me to stay," Jamie said. 

Ste said, "I love you," which was sort of the same thing.

Jamie nodded. "You kissed someone else," he said, without coming in. 

Ste nodded too. "Yeah. I just-" he stopped. "Being with you. It just happened and it kept happening and then it was me and you and everyone knew it. And then there were no girls, just you, and it wasn't like I'd ever said, _I don't like girls_ , I just said, _I just like you._ I needed to say that to myself, and I'm sorry you got hurt in the middle."

"And don't you?" Jamie asked, still out in the corridor.

"Don't I what?"

"Like girls?"

"I'm gay, Jay. And it's you. You that I love. Even though you drive me round the bend." 

Jamie gave him a lopsided smile. "Ask me to stay."

Ste smiled. His breath felt tight in his chest. " _Stay_ ," he said, and he took Jamie's bag and carried it into the flat and closed the door behind Jamie. 

He hugged Jamie outside the bathroom door. "It's you," he said, and his voice was lost in Jamie's coat, "it's you I want."

There was a long moment when Jamie didn't hug back, and Ste's breath caught in his throat. Then he was hugging back just as hard and he said in Ste's ear, "don't fuck up again, ok? I don't think I could do it again." 

Ste promised. And he meant it.

*

Jamie was supposed to be working the Saturday which was the anniversary of Ste's Mum's Death. He called in sick at the last minute because Ste looked stricken. Ten years was a long time. 

Ste sat on the end of the bed and watched as Jamie put on a shirt and tie, and then Ste picked up the flowers that he'd bought to put on her grave - pink and white carnations, her favourite - and they walked to the bus stop to get the bus to the cemetery. 

Her grave was beginning to look tired now. Ste arranged the flowers and traced the letters on the headstone. _Mother to Trevor and Steven._ "Hey Mum," he said, after a minute. "This is Jamie. I think you'd like him."

Jamie's hand was on Ste's shoulder, and Ste covered it with his own. 

When Ste stood up a moment later, Jamie held his hand out and Ste reached for him and hugged him tight. They walked hand in hand back to the bus stop, and only let go when they had to get on the bus and it was full and they had to stand. 

By the end of the afternoon, Ste must have looked exhausted and worn out, because Jamie let him watch the football results without moaning at all about there being something - anything - better on the other side. 

He wondered if his Dad had been to the grave today. Trevor was still in prison, as far as he knew. 

Jamie held his hand and made him a cup of tea and brought him a Jammie Dodger. 

Later in the evening Jamie turned the big light off and the room was lit just by the flicker of the TV. Jamie has talked about getting a lamp to go on the shelves next to Ste's Mum's picture, and it was at moments like these that Ste thought it might be nice if there was something lamp-like they could use instead of the big light. Ste still had his tie on, and Jamie picked lazily at the knot as they watched Casualty on the telly. Ste let him, and as Jamie unthreaded the tie, Ste said, "maybe next week we could go into town and buy a lamp." Which was possibly the closest Ste had ever got to initiating a discussion about interior decorating. 

Jamie pressed a kiss to Ste's forehead and said he'd pick up an Argos catalogue on the way home from work on Monday. After Casualty, they switched over because channel 4 was showing Dirty Dancing, so they ended up watching it with Ste resting his head on Jamie's shoulder. Jamie liked watching the dancing and Ste liked Jamie, so they ended up watching it all, splayed out across the sofa all loose limbs and warm bodies. When the film finished, Jamie took Ste's hand and led him into the bedroom. 

Ste slept better than he thought he would. 

*

Although a lot of things changed after Jamie moved back in, one thing didn't change, and that was Jamie's pestering Ste about getting some more qualifications and getting a better job. Jamie had been going on and on about it for so long that Ste was going slowly insane. Jamie had dropped into the library after work and got some leaflets about courses that the local colleges were offering in gym instructing and leisure management. He'd even been to the career bureau in his lunch break and asked about paying for the courses. That day he'd come back from work going on and on about how the council could pay for Ste to do his qualifications and he could get a day off work to go to college every week. Ste had thought that Jamie was so excited he had to have won the lottery or something. 

Ste decided that the only way to get Jamie to shut up was just to talk to his manager about getting his qualifications so he could do the keep fit classes and the bums and tums classes that they'd had to take off the leisure centre schedule after Terry had left last Easter. 

Jamie reckoned that Ste was good enough to get onto the GNVQ course; he'd been looking at Ste's certificates and the entrance requirements and he reckoned that Ste should be able to get onto it no problem, if the leisure centre wanted to pay for it. Ste didn't reckon that they would be up for it, but Jamie thought that Ste was just underestimating himself. Even Sandra thought he should give it a go, and Sandra tended to get that look in her eye whenever Jamie talked about Ste bettering himself, like Ste was a loser and he was going to stay that way. Ste had tried explaining it to Jamie once, about how she wanted better for Jamie, but Jamie just waved his hand and said Sandra liked him and to just shut up. 

Anyway, it had been weeks and weeks of Jamie having a go, and saying, "have you asked him yet?" every night when Ste got home from work. It got old pretty quickly, and Ste reckoned that if he had to go through another evening of the same old conversation, he might just have to lob himself out of the eighth floor window.

He made his mind up to ask Paul and just see what he said. He was only going to say no, but then at least it would get Jamie off his back and they could go back to the way things were - with no stupid conversations about Ste and day release like he was a special kid or something. 

Except, Paul seemed sort of half-interested in the idea. Ste took him to one side after the fun swim one Thursday afternoon in half term, and he asked about day release and doing a GNVQ and maybe running some gym classes after he was qualified. Paul had his head cocked to one side and he was staring at Ste like he'd never really met him before. Eventually he said, "I was beginning to think I was wrong about taking you on." After they'd cleared the pool and they'd finished setting the lanes up for the training sessions that ran early evening, Paul took him into his office and printed off some documents from his computer, about expectations and work and payment for courses, and he rang up for some course details from the local colleges. 

By the time Ste had to go off and help with the 5-a-side in the Sports Hall, plans were in motion and as long as there was space on the course at the college, the leisure centre seemed pretty sure they could stump up the cash to pay for Ste's qualifications. 

Ste had never seriously considered the possibility of Jamie actually being right, and people actually expecting more from him than just a lifeguard and changing room cleaner. Ste had only done it as a way of getting Jamie to shut up in the evenings, but now that it turned out Jamie had been right all along, it meant that Jamie would _never_ shut up in the evenings. Better pay for doing the courses after he was qualified would mean they were one step closer to Jamie's conservatory. 

Funny what you would do for love. 

Ste sneaked out to the main entrance and fed ten pence pieces into the payphone by reception and called Jamie at work. Ste was so pleased and so speechless it cost him 20p just to say nothing. But eventually he said, "looks like I can get day release."

Jamie laughed down the phone. "Told you, didn't I? Let's get Chinese takeaway to celebrate."

Ste finished his shift early because he put on an extra burst of speed cleaning up after the five-a-side teams had finished. He ended up waiting outside for Jamie, leaning up against the wall by the main entrance. The people he worked with could say whatever the hell they liked about Ste being with Jamie, but Ste needed fresh air and somewhere to clear his head. 

There were a couple of girls hanging around on the other side of the road, outside the newsagent. Ste recognised them from the fun swim earlier. It's the same every time, a gaggle of teenage girls hanging round by the lifeguards trying to ask them their names and get a date. Occasionally it works but for the most part it's just the lifeguards having a bit of fun. 

The girls came over, one of them clutching a packet of salt and vinegar crisps, the other a packet of smarties. Both girls offered him one. They were chatting him up, and they were so blatant it made him laugh. They reminded him of the girls from school, pushing and flicking their hair and pushing some more. Eventually, the taller one, Claire, said, "Do you want to come with us?"

Ste laughed. "I'm waiting for someone, I can't." 

"Oh yeah?" Julie asked, "Who?"

Ste grinned. He'd spotted Jamie coming around the corner from the bus stop, hands deep in his anorak pockets.

He nodded at Jamie, who was battling against the October wind and looking cold and red cheeked. "Him."

The girls didn't get it. "Who?"

Ste smiled at Jamie. Jamie probably wasn't that keen on seeing Ste chatting to girls considering the Danielle kiss couldn't be far from his mind. No matter how many times Jamie told Ste just to forget it and let them both move on, Ste couldn't persuade himself that Jamie didn't still think about it. 

Ste pushed himself off the wall. "Sorry girls," he said, once Jamie was definitely in earshot, "but I've got a date with my boyfriend."

Ste didn't say that very often, only when he was with Jamie at home or pissing his way round his territory because he was jealous of Jamie's deputy manager. His belly felt warm with the endearment. 

Jamie smiled at him, hesitantly, unsure. 

Ste was across the path and kissing Jamie even before he knew what he was doing himself. This time there was no soundtrack, no rising Mama Cass. There was no soundtrack apart from Julie and Claire doing the teenage girl equivalent of _well I never_ somewhere behind him. 

"You had a good day or something?" Jamie asked eventually, pulling away to catch his breath. He bit his lip, flushed red from kissing. 

"The best," Ste said. "Thanks to you." He thought about his qualifications and Jamie's conservatory and how he was going to give it to him eventually. He pressed a kiss to Jamie's forehead.

Ste had never really been into all that being out and proud stuff. He sort of left that up to Jamie. Kissing Jamie in public was all a bit new, even though they'd been going out for years and been together for what felt like forever. He always argued that he was happy with the way things were; coming home to Jamie and being able to stand in their kitchen and kiss him until they were both hard and laughing and peeling off their jeans and tripping over their trainers as they stumbled into the bedroom, sweeping clothes off the bed in their hurry. They usually finished up to find they were still wearing one sock and they'd left tea on the stove. But Jamie was usually wearing a lazy, shagged out smile by that point, hazily drawing shapes on Ste's stomach with the tip of his finger, so Ste tended not to care. He would just laugh and bury his head in the hot curve of Jamie's neck and fight for a change in position and more kissing. 

But there was a lot to be said for just kissing in public, Ste realised. Just being together outside of the flat. He held Jamie's hand even as they pulled away, and he kept on holding it right up until they got into the Chinese takeaway and they ordered chicken and rice and prawn crackers and spring rolls. Jamie was staring at him with this odd, half-smile on his face, and his eyes were shining. Ste couldn't help but think that he'd pretty much slay a dragon to get Jamie to look at him like that on a regular basis, and if all he had to do was hold Jamie's hand in public, Ste figured he'd lost out by not doing it earlier. 

When they got outside, clutching their carrier bag full of hot food, Ste reached out and took Jamie's hand again. 

Jamie stopped walking and looked at him. "You don't have to do that, you know, if you don't want to."

The shine had gone from his eyes. 

Ste smiled. "But what if I want to? Are you going to stop me then?"

Jamie watched him with a measured look on his face. 

Ste shook his head, leaned over and kissed Jamie on the cheek. "The food's getting cold. Come on." He held his hand out and waited for Jamie to catch on. 

They held hands all the way home, even when they got into the carpark of the high-rise and Jamie wanted to pull away. 

"No," Ste said, squeezing Jamie's hand. "They can take us as they find us."

When they got into the flat, Jamie kissed him up against the kitchen cabinets, hands in his hair and under his shirt and down his pants. Ste's skin was hot and damp after traipsing up eight flights again, but Jamie had got his coat off and his jumper up and over his head and was undoing his fly when they realised the food was getting cold. Jamie hopped across the kitchen with one shoe on and one shoe off and his trousers round his ankles, and he messed around with the oven, lighting it with an oversized match and sticking the tinfoil cartons in on a low heat to keep warm. 

"Mind we don't forget those," Jamie said, pushing Ste in the direction of the bedroom. 

Ste snorted and tugged at his trousers, kicking them in the general direction of the bathroom. "As if we could forget about food, Jamie."

Jamie nodded. "Fair point." He peeled off his socks. "On the bed, Ste."

Ste got on the bed, laughing as Jamie launched himself on top of him. 

A couple of hours later, once they'd finished the food and were slumped on the sofa in tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirts, overfull and shagged out, Jamie lifted his head and said, " _Seven Brides For Seven Brothers_ is on ITV on Saturday lunchtime."

Ste put his head in his hands, because he was going to be stuck watching musicals on Saturday afternoon, unless he took his life in his hands and went down the pub to watch the football results by himself. It might be worth it to avoid seeing Jamie singing along and pointing out bits of random trivia (Jamie was good at film trivia, it was his pub quiz speciality) about the actors and the songs. Ste knew that there was something very endearing about watching Jamie get animated about something, however, and it gave Ste a warm feeling deep down inside to watch Jamie smile and laugh and lean over and rest his head on Ste's shoulder. 

But. Football results. 

Ste reckoned he could probably swap Jamie watching _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_ for _Match of the Day_. That way Jamie got someone to listen to him rabbiting on about stupid Hollywood musicals, and Ste got to watch the football highlights without any hassle. 

They ended up watching Jamie's musical, nipping out for a sly couple of pints and planning to get back in time for Ste's football. They got the bus back up towards Greenwich and ended up at the Gloucester for old times sake. It was busy for five thirty on a Saturday evening, and they ended up fighting over a single bar stool at the far end of the bar. 

Ste shook his head whilst the barman was getting them their drinks. "Ok, Jay, which one of us fancies sitting down?" 

Jamie said something trite, like _I fancy **you**_ , but Ste just elbowed him.

"Sit down, idiot." Ste grinned at him as their drinks arrived. 

Jamie's drink was pink and fruity and he'd only bought it to embarrass Ste. Time was, Ste would have turned red and bought him a pint or something instead or just looked the other way as Jamie drank it, but Ste just shook his head, ordered it and said "if you taste like pink shit when I kiss you later, that'll be it - no sex."

Jamie put his glass down and laughed. "Order me a pint, Ste, I don't think I want to finish this." 

Ste cuffed him round the ear. "Drink it down, Jay."

Jamie slid an arm around Ste's waist. 

Ste kissed Jamie's forehead absent-mindedly, watching the bar. 

Time was - perhaps even after Jamie walked out - Ste would still have felt a bit embarrassed and self conscious at being so obviously part of a couple. Jamie grinned up at him; he was wearing that stupid, shit-eating grin and it took a moment for Ste to realise it was because they were here, together, and it felt so good Ste was grinning back even before he had time to think about it.

*

Ste was woken up in the middle of the night by Jamie rolling over and sliding his hand across Ste's stomach. 

Ste groaned, still asleep as Jamie murmured "sort me out, Ste," in his ear. Warm breath tickled across his face as he opened one eye and looked at the time on their newest acquisition, the clock radio. 3:00. Jamie pressed a kiss to the warm nape of Ste's neck, leaving a wet trail as he kissed his way up to Ste's cheek. He said, "sort me out," against the heat of Ste's mouth, and his hand rested against the hard, hot plain of Ste's stomach, his erection pressing against Ste's thigh. Ste hardened in response, twisting in the duvet till he was face to face with Jamie, his breath warm and sleepy in the dark. He kissed him, cupping his face and pushing his hips against Jamie's until they were hot and hard and desperate and Jamie was coming against the insisting pressure of Ste's hand, head back on the pillow and words catching in the dusky heat of the room. Ste kissed him, open mouthed and wet as he felt the pressure building, coming in breathy pulses that caught Jamie's thigh and meant that they would have to wash the sheets in the morning. 

They fell asleep almost immediately, sticky and damp. 

*

Maybe Ste and Jamie will never do anything cool or anything that would make them famous like painting the sixteenth chapel like Monet did or winning on _Mastermind_. But Jamie's pretty good on the film round in the pub quiz and Ste always gets the sports ones right on the _Millionaire_ machine by the bar. 

Plus, Ste was thinking about sending Jamie's cookbook down the rubbish chute when Jamie wasn't looking.


End file.
